


Sillage

by adverbally



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MFMM Year of Tropes, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbally/pseuds/adverbally
Summary: sillage /sēˈäZH/ nounOrigin: French, literally ‘wake, trail’.The degree to which a perfume's fragrance lingers in the air when worn; "a lingering impression of something having passed by."Phryne is caught off guard when a murder reminds her of her relationship with René Dubois. Jack is worried.





	Sillage

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just squeaking in before the deadline here. (It's still May on the West Coast, so I think it counts!) This is my first MFMM fic, so any feedback is greatly appreciated.

“Annabelle Stieber, age twenty-two,” Hugh explained as he led Jack and Phryne up the steps to the crime scene. “Her husband Lawson was a suspect in a recent burglary, but we hadn't been able to bring him in. When we interviewed Annabelle, she hadn't seen him in days and she had no clue where he was.”

Phryne was familiar with the case; it was the one she and Jack had been working on for the past two days. A friend of Aunt Prudence’s had reported some of her jewelry stolen, and Lawson Stieber had been working for her as a groundskeeper. When he hadn’t reported for duty after the burglary, he became an obvious suspect.

“Apparently,” Hugh went on, “he finally came home and Annabelle confronted him. He killed her and fled the scene. A patrolman found him down the street, still covered in blood.”

Phryne felt the familiar rush of morbid excitement as they stepped through the back door into the kitchen. The victim was curled on her side, facing away from them. The blood splattered across the floor and pooling underneath her head was stark against the worn linoleum. A messy wound on the back of her head was partially covered by her hair but was still easily seen through the blonde strands. If the blunt-force trauma hadn't done the job, she would have likely bled to death, Phryne thought. 

“Any sign of the murder weapon?” Jack asked, leaving a wide berth between himself and the corpse as he examined the kitchen. 

Phryne trailed behind him. The paint was faded and much of the cooking equipment she could see was clearly secondhand, but the room was impeccably clean and neat. Annabelle had obviously taken pride in keeping her house. It seemed wrong that her tidy space had become the scene of such a violent crime. 

“No weapon,” Hugh informed them, flipping through his notebook. “It looks like he just used his bare hands, sir. She hit her head, though. That might've been the cause of death.”

As Phryne circled around to examine the body, she was taken aback by the viciousness of the attack. It was difficult to see Annabelle’s face because of how she lay, but it was purpled with bruises and spotted with blood from a broken nose. If Phryne had to guess, they likely extended beneath the collar of her modest house dress, since they peeked out from her sleeves as well. 

Phryne’s stomach dropped when she realized that the reason Annabelle’s arms were so easily examined was that she had raised them to protect her face from her husband’s blows. 

“See the bruising around her neck?” Jack asked her quietly. 

“Not what killed her,” Phryne mused absently, leaning down for a closer look. “There's too much blood. He must have choked her when she fought back. Maybe she broke away and fell, or he pushed her. She would've hit her head on the counter.” She couldn't stop looking at the injuries that marred Annabelle’s pretty young face. 

“Didn't stop Lawson. The way she's curled up, he probably started kicking her when she was down.”

Phryne's blood ran cold. It was all too easy to imagine: Annabelle’s surprise when the attack began, the panic as her air was cut off by her husband’s hands around her neck, the blinding pain and accompanying confusion of her head injury, the helplessness that drove her to try to make herself a smaller target for Lawson’s rage. 

The metallic scent of blood was suddenly all Phryne could smell, heavy and thick and oppressive in the small kitchen. She could hardly breathe. “Excuse me,” she said, rising to her full height and striding through the back door as quickly as she could. 

Phryne didn't stop until she reached the far corner of the Stiebers’ small garden. Annabelle's influence was clear here, too; well-tended flowerbeds and weed-free plots of vegetables and herbs formed neat lines. A nearby rose bush both cleared the smell of blood from Phryne's mind and provided cover as she crouched down and put her head between her knees. 

It was rare that Phryne’s personal history intruded into her professional life, but it always hit her hard when it did. It was extremely difficult for her to work cases that involved young girls, as they tended to dredge up painful memories of Janey’s disappearance and murder. Likewise, cases of domestic violence, particularly against younger women, sometimes sent her reeling. While they didn’t deal with these types of cases very often, that meant that Phryne was often caught off-guard by her reactions to them. 

Seeing Annabelle was like looking into an alternate version of Phryne’s own life, one where she never escaped her toxic relationship with René Dubois. Phryne had been about Annabelle's age when she lived in Paris. She remembered that time very clearly, as much as she would have liked to put it out of her mind. 

Phryne wondered how similar Annabelle’s situation had been to her own. Had Lawson Stieber been just as unpredictable as René, wildly swinging from adoring to threatening in what felt like the blink of an eye? Was Annabelle familiar with his tight grip, leaving finger-shaped bruises at her hips and arms where nobody would be able to see? Had she been truly afraid of him yet, or was she still too blinded by love to realize that his actions couldn't be excused by too much to drink or a difficult day of work? 

The parallels made Phryne’s stomach churn. Resting her forehead on her knees, she shut her eyes and focused on the drag of air in and out of her lungs. 

“Miss Fisher, are you alright?”

Phryne raised her head to see Hugh standing over her, looking concerned. 

“The Inspector sent me to see if you were unwell,” Hugh explained. “You left so quickly--”

“I'm fine,” Phryne said, rising to stand upright with the help of Hugh’s steadying hand. “It was just rather warm in the kitchen and I was beginning to feel ill,” she lied. “I'm feeling better now.”

“Are you sure?” Hugh pressed. “I would be happy to escort you home.”

Phryne smiled, but it felt brittle and false. “No need, Hugh, I'm perfectly capable of driving myself. Though now that you mention it, maybe it's best if I rest this afternoon. Would you mind giving my regrets to the Inspector? I don't think it would be wise for me to go back inside.”

“Of course, Miss,” Hugh said with a nod, already turning to head back into the house. 

Yes, that was just what Phryne needed. The case was open and shut, after all; Lawson Stieber had confessed to both the murder and the burglary and had been taken into custody. The politics and the paperwork could be left to Jack while she took a nap and tried to put the whole incident from her mind. 

***

It was late by the time Jack arrived at Wardlow, as he so often did. Since Phryne had returned from her madcap journey to England, Jack had spent most evenings at Phryne’s home. He almost always joined her for a nightcap, if not a full meal, and he often spent the night. 

From her vantage point in the doorway to the parlor, Phryne marveled at the domesticity of it all as she watched Mr. Butler help Jack out of his coat. It had been six months since she came back to Melbourne, plus another three months of fantasizing about him from abroad, and Phryne still couldn't believe the ease with which Jack had situated himself into her life. He had been an important figure in her life even before she accepted his romantic overtures, of course, but it was impossible for Phryne to ignore the significance of the change in their relationship. 

She had been pleasantly surprised by just how open-minded Jack could be. He didn’t mind when she wanted to go out dancing, a pastime he didn’t particularly enjoy himself. He had never expressed concern that she might take other men to her bed. To her own surprise, Phryne hadn’t felt the need to seek other company since she and Jack had begun their relationship. It seemed that all of the anxieties she had harbored for so long were easily defused by Jack’s quiet acceptance and trust in her. 

“Phryne,” Jack said, his voice pulling her back into the present. Based on his tone, he had already tried to get her attention; while he didn't seem annoyed, he was concerned. 

“Hello, Jack,” she greeted him, pulling him closer by the lapels of his suit jacket. She couldn't help but smile as he leaned in to kiss her chastely. As progressive as he was, Jack was still reluctant to do anything more enthusiastic in front of witness, especially if Mr. Butler was present. Phryne found it endlessly charming that Jack was so determined to maintain his good reputation with her household. 

“Are you alright?” Jack murmured, keeping his voice low. “You seemed a million miles away.” His hand on her waist squeezed gently, as if to ground her. 

“Nothing a nice evening in can’t fix, I’m sure,” Phryne told him, though her smile faltered slightly. If he had noticed that, there was no way he wouldn’t bring up the way she had practically fled the crime scene earlier. The folder he held in his other hand wasn’t leading the evening in a promising direction either. 

Phryne dismissed Mr. Butler for the evening and led Jack into the parlor. She poured them each a glass of whiskey, partly because she wanted a drink and partly because she needed to keep her hands busy. She took her usual seat on the chaise with her feet tucked under her and Jack’s warmth beside her and tried to relax.

“Hugh sends his regards,” Jack said wryly, looking down into his glass. “He hopes you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, yes, much better,” Phryne lied, taking a sip of her drink. 

She could feel Jack’s gaze on her like a physical weight. He was obviously trying to decide whether it was better to let it go or to push for more information. While Jack was always respectful of her privacy, he also hated to see her suffer silently. The part of Phryne that was her father’s daughter still struggled to let herself open up to Jack; the suspicion that had been ingrained in her since childhood flared up every so often and made things difficult.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to bite the bullet and put Jack out of his misery. “Oh, alright. I know you’re dying to ask,” she sighed, fiddling with the edges of the faceted glass in her hands.

“I think I have an idea,” Jack admitted. “It was the case, wasn’t it?”

Phryne nodded slowly. “Annabelle reminded me a bit too much of myself. Cases like these sometimes do.”

“Because of René.” It wasn’t a question. 

Phryne took another drink as she gathered her thoughts. “Sometimes I wonder if he would have killed me if I hadn’t left Paris when I did. And sometimes, like today, I…” She trailed off, at a rare loss for words. “It was like I looked at her and I suddenly knew, without a doubt, that the same thing would have happened to me. I started imagining what she must have been through, and it was all too familiar. I couldn’t stay in there. So I went outside like a coward and lied to Hugh and avoided you. Until now.”

When she finally looked up to meet Jack’s gaze, his eyes were stormy grey and his brow was furrowed. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t think before I asked you to come to the scene.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Phryne argued. It was just like him, her noble Jack, to blame himself. “It had been so long since I had thought about him. It took me completely by surprise.”

Jack nodded, though he still looked guilty. “Well, the good news is that Lawson Stieber will never lay a finger on another woman. Between the evidence from the scene and his confession, he’s almost sure to hang.”

Phryne managed to give him a small smile. “That is good news, but I doubt the case is that simple if you’ve brought the file with you.”

Jack winced. “It’s just the coroner’s report. I thought you might want to see it, since you weren’t able to come to the morgue earlier.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Not one of my better ideas.”

“It was a nice thought, darling, but I think it’s best if I don’t.” The horrible scene was already burned into her memory; she hardly needed more details to include in her nightmares. 

“Right,” Jack agreed, looking down at his untouched whiskey. “I wish there was something more I could do to help.”

Phryne sat her drink down. “You’re already helping by being here.”

He followed her lead and placed his glass on the table beside hers. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” Jack asked. 

The uncertainty looked so wrong on his handsome face that Phryne felt the urge to kiss it away. She leaned in and pressed their lips together, relishing the way he relaxed against her and opened his mouth to her. It was moments like these that made her most aware of how unlike René he was. René was all fire and urgency where Jack favored tenderness and sensuality. René kissed as hard as he hit and used his touches to force her into submission. Jack touched her like she was something precious and awe-inspiring and let her guide their love-making.

Warmth bloomed in Phryne’s chest as she pulled away to see Jack’s face. His pupils were wide in his dazed eyes, nearly swallowing the steely irises. His lips had pinked up nicely already, both from the movement of their mouths against each other and from her lipstick. She lifted a hand to cup his cheek and thrilled at the feel of his barely-there stubble.

“Stay with me, Jack Robinson,” she said. Her accompanying smile was more genuine than it had been all day.

“I plan to,” he replied before using the hand at her waist to pull her into his lap.


End file.
